Fear of Flying
by mirasoul
Summary: "That's all I have now: the memories. The memories of how we came to be, and how we fell apart. It's a story I'll never forget, the most exciting in the book of my life. And now, I'm here to share it with you."
1. Prologue

**1/12/11:** Oh lookie, I'm writing again! LOL JK, no I'm not. This is about the umpteenth time I've posted this prologue, and every single time I promised myself I'd continue with it. And every single time I just took it back down again. I find it very difficult to stay committed to chapter fics, even when I'm just reading them. Probably has something to do with my short attention span.

BUT ANYWAY. The umpteenth and first time's the charm, right? I'm pretty sure the phrase is "third time's the charm", but whatever. Close enough. Actually not really. But whatever. I'll shut up now. Kay. Bye.

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Hermione Granger once told me, "School couples never last." The way she said it – so blunt and matter-of-fact, as if it was nothing more than a statistic she had stumbled across during one of her many trips to the library – made me want to prove her wrong.

"That doesn't apply for Harry and me," I had etorted. My voice was sure, but I felt a pang of doubt from somewhere deep down inside me. I pushed it to the back of my mind. There was no way Hermione could be right about _everything_.

Unfortunately for me, they don't call her a know-it-all for nothing.

llllllllll

Harry Potter is everywhere. His name appears on every other line of the _Daily Prophet_, his face graces the cover of _Witch Weekly_ at least twice a month, and he's even got a line of brooms named after him. It's impossible to go a day without hearing "Harry Potter did this" or "Harry Potter did that". Once I heard someone refer to him as the new Merlin. He's become a wizarding legend, an image of hope, the most eligible bachelor in all of wizarding London – and quite possibly the world.

Whenever Harry Potter comes up in casual conversation (which, now that I think about it, occurs almost every time I even _have_ a casual conversation), I make a hasty attempt to change the subject. While I commend his heroism and bravery and the fact that he rescued Muggles and Muggleborns from extinction, those are not the things that automatically come to mind when my thoughts turn to him. Harry Potter did more than just defeat You-Know-Who and save the world: He made me fall in love with him.

Yes, that's right. I am the ex-girlfriend of _the_ Harry Potter. I am the awkward interview question he laughs at uncomfortably. I am the reason he, according to the reporter whose sole job is to stalk him for her monthly column entitled "In Harry's Shoes", apparently can't keep a steady relationship. I am the one who let him get away.

I've never been a fighter. I'm not brave; my heart is more like that of a bunny rabbit than a lion, and courage is most definitely not one of my prominent attributes. Which is why, even after all these years, I still cannot fathom the Sorting Hat's reasoning for placing me in Gryffindor. Perhaps it was tired of doing nothing but singing and sitting on people's heads. Perhaps it wanted a laugh. Or perhaps it actually did know what it was doing.

I would've made the ideal Hufflepuff. It was my parents' house, as well as my older sister's. (My younger brother was in Ravenclaw, but that came as no surprise to us. He's always been a reader.) We're givers, my family. A quality all Hufflepuffs possess. Maybe that's why it hurt so much when Harry and I ended our relationship. I had given him my heart.

To this day, I still wonder what would have happened if I hadn't chickened out. Honestly, I think we would still be together. Married, even. We were perfect for each other. But that no longer matters. I live in Ireland now, the receptionist at St. Patrick's Infirmary for Injured Witches and Wizards, while Harry remains in London, a successful Auror and winner of Witch Weekly's "Most Charming Smile" award for the past five years (and Ron probably never lets him forget it). We haven't had contact since the day we graduated from Hogwarts – although I am almost positive I spotted him through the window of my sister's bookshop in Diagon Alley last Christmas. Our lives are separate, different. We both have changed, one way or another. But I still remember the Harry Potter I once knew, the one who would pull me into dark corners of the castle to sneak a kiss and steal food from the kitchens for a romantic picnic by the lake. I remember him as the boy who loved, not the boy who lived.

That's all I have now: the memories. The memories of how we came to be, and how we fell apart. It's a story I'll never forget, the most exciting of my life. And now, I'm here to share it with you

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So, I'm trying to cut down on sweets for 2011. Reviews serve as a sugar substitute for me. Please, help me resist temptation!

~ Sheila

Oh, and ps: Inspiration for this fic came from the song _Fear of Flying_ by ARTTM. (That stands for "A Rocket to the Moon", by the way. I guess this little inset defeats the purpose of me abbreviating the band name in the first place. Oh well.) Keep your eyes peeled for chapter one! And don't worry, I promise it'll get posted. I wrote it a bajillion years ago already.


	2. Chapter 1

**1/18/11: **Here's chapter one! I hope you enjoy it. :)

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**Chapter 1: Pumpkins, Vampires, and Overgrown Toenails**

For the first four years we knew each other, Harry Potter and I didn't get along very well. We weren't enemies, but he wasn't exactly the first person I would go to if I ever had a problem. Well, unless that problem was You-Know-Who.

We were acquaintances. Nothing more, nothing less. Being in the same House forced us to have some contact with each other, but we exchanged no further than a polite smile and a friendly "hello" unless otherwise necessary. We didn't have anything against each other; it was merely that we ran in different social circles. Yes, even Hogwarts' Houses have cliques.

Because Hermione Granger and I shared a dormitory together, we were on rather good terms. But our conversations were kept to a minimum the second we descended the staircase into the common room and she went off with Harry and Weasley to discuss their plans to save the wizarding world from eternal turmoil. (Well, at least, that's what I always assumed they were doing. Even when Harry and I became an item, they remained cautious about what they talked about in my presence.) She helped me study, and I let her borrow my owl whenever she needed to write home. That was pretty much the extent of our friendship.

Dean was my best friend. I had known he would be my best friend long before the two of us actually met. You see, before little baby Harry made the big bad You-Know-Who disappear (or so we thought), Dean's father was being targeted by Death Eaters, so he was forced to leave his family and go into hiding. My parents gladly welcomed him into our home, and until the age of five, I grew up with Mr. Thomas as my second father, telling me stories about his years at Hogwarts and ending each one with, "But I know you and Dean will get into much more trouble than I did at school. I just hope you two don't wreak too much havoc; you've both got bright futures ahead of you." He always finished with tears in his eyes, claiming it was his "blasted Muggle allergies – with all the magic in the world, it's a wonder no one's come up with a cure yet!" before rushing off to the loo. I cried for a week when those evil, masked men came and took him away. Dean did as well when I told him the story of how I knew his name in the compartment we shared the first time we rode the Hogwarts Express.

In fact, Dean (and Seamus) was the reason Harry Potter and I took that step past being just friendly acquaintances and became actual friends. And, because we were hormonal teenagers, we refused to stop at friendship. Hence the reason why I am currently telling you this story.

It was October 31st, 1995. I remember because that was the same day Seamus Finnigan decided to test how much of a daredevil he was and sneak into Hagrid's pumpkin patch to eat one of the enormous pumpkins the gamekeeper had been growing since the first day of school. With Dean, a couple of awestruck first-years, and me as his audience, Seamus unpocketed a large wooden spoon and tore apart the entire thing, leaving nothing more than a hollow pumpkin and a few seeds uneaten. All this would have been enough to give him major stomach pains if it had been one of the healthy overgrown pumpkins, but Seamus had eaten the only one Hagrid hadn't hauled into the Great Hall for the night's Halloween feast: the contaminated one that had been magicked wrong and left in the patch for a reason.

Naturally, Seamus spent the remainder of the day in the Hospital Wing, his pale green face buried deep in a bucket filled to the brim with all the meals he had eaten over the course of the previous two months. And, naturally, Dean stayed with him, awkwardly patting Seamus's back and getting a little sick himself. I, however, wasn't very fond of spending my Halloween watching Seamus send the contents of his stomach back up. So after I skipped down to the Hospital Wing, offered an obligatory "you poor thing" to the barfing Irish boy, and made a sympathetic face at Dean, I skipped right back out of there, claiming I had unfinished homework that was calling my name.

Without Dean to pass the time with, I was pretty much a loner. So, doing what all loners (and Hermione Granger) do, I ascended to the fourth floor and settled myself into a secluded corner of the library.

In honor of the holiday, I selected _True Beasts of the Wizarding World: Creatures That Will Make Even the Bravest Wizard Cower in Fear_, flipped to the chapter on vampires, and began reading.

_". . . Although most vampires kill their victims with minimal damage to the flesh, there are some who are partial to ripping their victims apart after they have finished feeding. One vampire in particular is famous for his violent killings in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds, although Muggles, oblivious to the existence of magical creatures, refer to him as what they call a 'serial killer.'_

_Jacques Canning, nicknamed 'Jack the Ripper' by nonmagical folk, was a French vampire who came to London in the late 1880s. He targeted young Muggleborn witches, and would leave the remains of his victims scattered in the area where he had killed them. His first victim was found in a Muggle hotel room, her arms and legs decapitated and her right hand thrust into her stomach. It is imagined that he lured her into the room and, when the door was locked, brandished his fangs and slit her throat open. Evidence proves that he then drew a knife and slashed a line down her face, cutting her body into halves and –"_

"Raleigh, do you have your Charms book?"

I screamed. Very, very loudly. What else was I supposed to do? There I was, half-scared to death from reading this gruesome book about a vampire who took sick pleasure from ripping apart his victims, and suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder. A tap that very well may have been executed by Jacques Canning, come back from the dead to cut me open. In my opinion, it was the only logical thing I could've done. That, and draw my wand so as to send a toenail-growing hex at whoever had startled me, be it a vampire or not. Which I did as well.

And who should be at the receiving end of my defense? Not 'Jack the Ripper,' as I had thought, but Harry Potter. There he was, emerald eyes widened with shock behind his spectacles (always slightly askew), losing his balance because his toenails were poking through his shoes and growing so rapidly it was difficult for him to stay upright. By the time Madame Pince reached our neck of the library, they had grown at least two more meters.

"Out, the both of you!" she yelled, her face reddening. "There will be no screaming or spell-flinging in my library! Don't come back until you've learned how to properly act in the presence of such fine literature! And for Merlin's sake, Miss Cromwell, take Mister Potter to the Hospital Wing before his toenails will no longer be able to fit in the castle. Now, leave! I should give you both detentions for this!"

I apologized profusely as we hurried down to the Hospital Wing – or, to be more accurate, _I_ hurried and Harry sort of just . . . struggled along beside me. It's more difficult than you'd think, walking with toenails as long as a Quidditch field. I would've helped him, but I was scared if I touched him he might sprout tentacles or something of that sort. I had already caused enough damage for the day.

"I'm so sorry, Harry! I didn't mean to, really. If I had known it was you behind me – I'm so, so sorry! It was an accident, I swear! You just caught me by surprise, and – oh, Harry, I really am sorry! I'm sorry I –"

"Raleigh. _Raleigh._ Raleigh! Don't worry about it. I know you didn't mean to." Just as I let out a sigh of relief, he looked at me peculiarly. "Why were you so jumpy, anyway? Is my face really that scary?"

He grinned to show me he was only joking, but I blushed anyway, and he laughed. I told him about Jacques Canning, and how I thought he was out to slaughter me. He laughed again, louder this time, and I turned a shade of red that rivaled the entire Weasley family.

Madame Pomfrey restored Harry's toenails to their normal length not ten seconds after we stepped into the Hospital Wing. After a scolding on improper uses of magic and a threat that if either of us ever showed up in the Hospital Wing with abnormal toenails again we would have to find a way to fix it ourselves, we were allowed to leave.

"Er –" Harry and I mumbled out at the same time, trying to break the awkward silence that had ensued between us the moment we stepped past the Hospital Wing doors. We both looked at each other and chuckled, the sound of our laughter putting us at ease.

"So, what were you trying to ask me before I so rudely hexed you?" I asked presently. He smiled.

"I needed to borrow your Charms book. I left mine in my dormitory, and I still have yet to write my essay on why making teacups sprout legs is essential for everyday life. Reckon I've no clue how I'm going to make up enough to receive at least passing marks, though." He frowned and absentmindedly ran his hand through his already tousled hair.

It was that move, done so unconsciously by him, that made me fall in love – okay, maybe not love. Yet. But I definitely had a sudden urge to snog him right then and there. I don't know why I never realized his sex appeal until that moment, but as he mussed his hair even more and tilted his head ever so slightly, causing the soft yellow light from the setting sun to reflect off his glasses and make his bright green eyes shimmer, I became acutely aware of just how handsome he really was. I decided then to turn on my charm and try my hand at flirting, although I had no experience whatsoever in the coquetting department.

"Isn't that due tomorrow?" Brilliant. That's definitely going to make him want to take me to his dormitory and ravish my body with his lips.

"Yeah," he sighed, and it sounded like music to my ears. Suddenly an image of Harry and me rolling on the shore of a remote island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, our clothes nonexistent and our tongues battling fiercely as his hands groped every inch of my body flashed through my mind. Blimey, what has gotten into me? Since when has anyone's _sigh_ stirred up sexual fantasies in my head? What's next, I'll wet my knickers when he smiles at me?

He did smile at me then, wryly, and thank Merlin my panties stayed dry. I did swoon, though, just a tad. I had to make an extra effort to actually comprehend the words he was saying, because the sound of his voice was incredibly distracting.

"Even Ron's done it already, but he won't let me see it, the little bugger. He and Hermione are at each other's throats again, and neither of them is speaking to me because they think I'm speaking to the other one." He frowned. "If that even makes any sense."

"I can help you write it," I volunteered, taking advantage of the perfect opportunity to spend some quality time with the great Harry Potter. "I would lend you mine, but . . ." I quickly wracked my brain for an excuse, ". . . but Dean has it." There, that seemed plausible enough.

Harry smiled at me, an adorable lopsided grin that showed all of his pearly whites and made my heart skip a beat. "Sounds like a plan," he said, and I couldn't help smiling back. I walked with him back to the portrait of the Fat Lady, all the while thinking up clever ways to make him fall in love with me. And now, our story _really_ begins.

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So, how was it? Reviews would be dandy! Also, it'd be cool if you could tell me what you want to happen next. Like, plot twists and stuff like that. Because I wrote this ages ago, and now I'm having trouble recalling what I wanted to happen. Ideas would be great, por favor. :D

~ Sheila


	3. Chapter 2

**2/5/11:** Yay, I actually updated! Plotwise, there's not too much excitement going on, but I'm just trying to get my writing mojo back. It's short, I know, but you get a nice introduction to Dean. He's my favorite non-main character in all the books, so I love giving him a main part in this story. :)

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**Chapter 2: Spilled Ink and a Very Good View**

It had been two weeks since what I now refer to as The Toenail Incident. Thankfully, since then I had not managed to land Harry in the Hospital Wing again. Unthankfully, however, the only reason I had not managed to land Harry in the Hospital Wing again is that we hadn't spoken since that day.

Well, that's not entirely true. The morning after The Toenail Incident, he accidentally bumped into me on his way out of the Portrait Hole for breakfast and thanked me for helping him with his Charms essay, although I hadn't actually been such a great help. I had focused less on the necessity of teacups with legs and more on trying to not make an utter fool of myself. Which I had ended up being a miserable failure the moment I tried my hand at flirting and flipped my messy brown hair over my shoulder, consequently knocking over a bottle of ink, which proceeded to drown and demolish his essay. Yes, I know. I'm a complete dunderhead.

So when he flashed a charming grin at me the next day, all I could do was blush profusely and apologize to him for what seemed like the millionth time in less than twenty-four hours. He had told me not to worry about it, that Hermione had siphoned off all the ink and managed to salvage his essay, and hurried to catch up with said Girl Genius and Ron without a backward glance. Not that I was expecting one, anyway. But that didn't keep me from pathetically hoping.

The next two weeks consisted of me simultaneously admiring Harry from afar and spending increasing amounts of time with Dean and Seamus. Which wasn't that odd, seeing as Dean was my closest friend, but he usually split his time between Seamus and me rather than the three of us hanging around together. I wasn't complaining, as Seamus was a nice, funny bloke with a wicked cool Irish accent, but his constant presence prevented me from confiding my newfound fancy to Dean. Not that Dean would care, seeing as whenever I tell him I've struck a fancy for a new fellow all he does is tease me to no end, but I always tell him everything. My current obsession with Harry was no exception.

It was the fourteenth of November – a frigid, chilly Tuesday. I was walking down to the Quidditch pitch with Dean, surprisingly sans Seamus. The sandy-haired Irish boy had detention with Flitwick, as he had somehow managed to send our pint-sized Charms professor sailing across the classroom during our afternoon lesson. Even to this day, I'm still not entirely sure how that had happened. We weren't even working on levitation charms.

"Remind me again why I have to sit in the stands for three hours to watch a bunch of blokes fly around in circles," I grumbled, looking cross as Dean and I walked across the grounds. "It's bad enough going to matches."

"Because I love you, and the cost of my love is an afternoon spent on the Quidditch pitch, watching your best mate of all time trounce his competition," Dean replied cheekily. I scowled.

"But it's going to start raining soon! I don't like getting wet." I looked up at him and pouted, hoping he would see my side of things and let me head back to the nice, warm, dry common room. As if.

He shot me a pointed look. "You're a witch, you bugger. Conjure yourself up an umbrella and stop your whining."

I opened my mouth to retort but couldn't think of a decent comeback. I scowled again and stuck my tongue out at him. He laughed, and I scowled some more.

"Don't be such a downer, Raleigh!" he teased lightly, slinging his arm around my shoulders. "It won't take long, I promise. Harry said Angelina just wants to run a few speed drills and then test our scoring skills. It'll be an hour, tops."

I grumbled, but no longer tried to protest. In all honesty, at the mention of Harry's name I no longer loathed Dean for coercing me into accompanying him down to the pitch. I had forgotten Harry was on the House team, and would thus be at the tryouts, giving me a full hour of staring time. This thought brought both a smile to my face and a reminder to my head. I still hadn't told Dean about my fancy.

I opened my mouth to admit to Dean how bloody sexy I thought Harry Potter was, but the words never came out. Rain began to pour, and I emitted a squeal instead. Dean chuckled and, being the gentleman that he is, flicked his wand, making an umbrella appear out of thin air. He opened it and held it over the both of us, and we laughed as we splashed the rest of the way to the pitch, teasing and joking and having a jolly good time.

We parted ways once we reached our destination, him going through the Gryffindor changing room to the center of the field and me climbing the stands. Besides Hermione, I was the only one there. She smiled at me as I entered the Gryffindor seating section, and I went to sit beside her.

"Here for Dean?" She inquired, watching as my best friend joined the cluster of people on the ground. Standing in front of the cluster was Angelina Johnson, the captain of the Gryffindor House team, with the rest of her team forming a line behind her: Fred and George Weasley, the beaters; Katie Bell, Angelina's fellow chaser; a seventh year boy I did not recognize, who I assumed must be keeper; and, of course, Harry Potter, seeker extraordinaire.

I nodded in response to her question. "Here for Harry?"

"And Ron, too." I squinted my eyes and, sure enough, I saw a blob of ginger standing next to Dean.

"Why are they holding tryouts?" I asked, my eyes following Dean as he kicked off into the air with the other potential chasers. "I know they need to replace Alicia Spinnet, but what happened to her?"

Hermione face twisted into a look of disgust. "Apparently, Sprout caught Alicia and Roger Davies shagging in a broom closet. They got two weeks' detention, and when McGonagall wrote home to Alicia's parents about it they were so furious they asked McGonagall to ban her from the team."

My eyes widened at the news, but I had to admit I wasn't too surprised. This may have been the first time Alicia was caught gallivanting by a professor, but it certainly wasn't the first time she was caught at all – Neville Longbottom was scarred for life when he entered the wrong classroom in our fourth year and found the former Gryffindor chaser in a very compromising position with Lee Jordan.

Hermione and I sat in friendly silence, breaking the quiet occasionally to cheer on Dean or Ron. When Dean wasn't racing around the pitch or attempting to score goals, I averted my attention to Harry, who chatted amiable with the Weasley twins for the majority of the tryouts and joined in with Hermione when it was Ron's turn to face the keeper at the goalposts.

When the tryouts were over, Dean and I lagged behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione on our way back up the castle. Dean gave me a play-by-play of the tryout as if I had not just spent my evening watching it, and I threw in a "Really?" and "Blimey, no way!" every so often to appease him as I kept my eyes forward and enjoyed the view of a certain tousle-haired boy's backside.

All in all, it was a productive evening.

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Reviews would make my day! Tell me what you like, what you didn't like, what you think might happen... Anything at all. :)

Until next chapter! ~Sheila


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